The Lord hath pity yet, as well as pow’r,
Had He not Mercy we were now no more.
Who can the wonders of his Truth repeat,
His Mercies still are new, and ever great.
The Lord is good, from him my Hope I’ll take.
For them that seek him he will not forsake.
‘Tis good to hope, and patiently attend,
That Quiet which the Lord at last may send,
‘‘Tis Patience far o’erpaid when God’s thy Friend.
‘Tis good at first to bear th’afflicting Rod,
For Youth, when prosperous, is vain and proud.
And what is best is still ordain’d by God.
Yet dismal Silence doth my Spirits wound,
When neither Peace nor Comfort can be found,
I bow my Humble head e’en to the ground,
To seek for Hope, and am so low become,
That e’en Reproaches are with Patience born,
And to th'insulting Foe I’m made a scorn.
But yet the Lord will not forsake me ever,
And tho’ a while his Mercies he doth sever,
At length he will my weary Soul deliver.
Unwillingly he punisheth, and slow,
But all his Works do his Compassions show,
His unexhausted Mercies ever flow.
All, who Injustice do, his Soul disdains,
Such as add weight to th’weary Captive’s Chains.
Anne Wharton 1659-1685